Peace of Mind
by Penultima
Summary: He continued to smile, eyes locked on a place somewhere no one else could locate. A place where, perhaps, his thoughts may be understood, and his worries and sorrow, shared at last. Chp 2 Up
1. Default Chapter

Peace of Mind

A FF9 Fanfiction

By Penultima

He still smiles.

There's a simple little curve pasted onto his face, sweet and pleasant, given to anyone who would want it or deserve it. It's not genuine, though.

We all know he's not over his grieving, and there's a lot more than just loss eating away at his sanity. I'm part of that small group of people who notice. The problem? There was no way to help him out of this one. The 'him' we know is a person who'd come to someone and say, "I miss her a lot, and it's driving me crazy. Help." He's not doing that.

He's not even crying.

There's a pattern now, to the things he does. Usually he's so unpredictable, jumping here and there, one time inside his chambers looking over papers(_unlike what he was years ago_), and then outside palace walls in his thief clothes looking at what was going on(_with her at his side)_. Now, he rises early in the morning and sits by the window, still in his bedclothes watching the city(_and the sun_) rise. At sunset, he sits again at the same place, and he loses yet another bit of himself.

We all insisted he share the burden with us. But then,(_take your pride out of the way_) he'd put on an unknowing façade and say, "I don't know what you're talking about." When he does that, even I need someone to hold me back(_need to slam him to the wall, scream at him_) and help me not to boil over. I wanted to make him weep the way he should be. Grieving over her like he should. There's a thick pane of glass(_sleek, transparent—your perfect hideaway_) separating him from the rest of the world. We used to be beside him, inside that glass cage—and we still are, there's just another one(_more transparent, way stronger, unyielding_) tightly sealing itself around him.

And there is way no way we can help. Nothing to do.

"Hey, _your highness_," his voice is soft, carefully chosen and spoken. The addressed person quickly turns, honey-brown hair awash in gold under the sunset glow, perched lightly on the roof like he was on holiday whilst weaker hearts would have gone faint. He smiles lightly in response(_clueless of what nausea it churns in the other)_. "They say watching the sun set isn't a good way to end your day." He laughs, not rash and loud as he used to, but gently considered and musical, almost. This wasn't the person he was years ago.

"And why would that be, _Sir_ Blank?" his lifetime friend grins in response, and takes a seat beside the brooding ruler of Alexandria. The silence following was bubble thin, maintained by the constant breeze lightly picking up in the air and the still-falling sun sinking down the horizon. If it were anyone else, Blank would have thought the king would break the silence and whine, even shout and weep at everything he'd lost. No—that wasn't what Zidane Triball was—he kept smiling, staring off into the distance where the sun bled gold and an almost blood-like red into the sky, melting away into a deep, limitless midnight painting, thinking his own thoughts and keeping them—as always, lately—to himself.

"Zidane—"

"—I know what you're going to say." His words almost forced Blank to whip his head round in response. Instead, he froze, watching from the corner of his covered eye as the gold head lowered, slightly, staring down at his own hands. "no, Blank, I'm not grieving. I'm over it already. There was no way to stop it, and I'm not blaming anyone. The only man to blame is dead, so is she, nothing more to talk about." Ocean-deep eyes drill their way through his soul, fixed on a pair of other eyes he can't see. "Really, stop worrying."

"How do you suppose I do that?" his friend let out a light sigh, his tail curling round his one folded knee as he contemplated the question.

"How can I assure you I'm alright?" the question elicits no answer from the sword-bearing Tantalus. "I can't tell you what's wrong if there is nothing wrong." (_Lies_)

"If you keep lying, how can I assume you're okay?" Zidane looked away almost guiltily. "I know you better than you think." Blank stood up, brushing away the nonexistent dust on his clothes. His stern voice grows soft, as his face turns to lock eyes with the other. "Even if you won't tell me, I'm hoping you'll tell someone else." (_Break, fall apart and shatter_. _We're here to catch you as you fall_)

"There's nothing to say." (_or have you fallen farther beyond what we can even see?_) "But if I need you, I'll come to you right away." (_When would that be?_) He looks away, eyes half-closed, lulled by the passing breeze as the town ceased nearly all trade and mothers tucked their children to sleep. All of a sudden, he throws his friend a glance. "Right now, I've not much on my mind." (_I was beginning to think you'd already lost it_.)

Both men look straight back to the horizon, where the sun is no more(_and where are you?_), where all the purple and the crimson and gold of the skies were disappearing to, like the gate of another dimension closing to an ever eternal end(_taking you away_). The darkness fell over them and hushed the whole city, twinkling in its lights as the splendor of the castle changed; from an overseeing image of power, to a romantic background of shining white and gold lights. Blank couldn't notice less, he tried to suppress himself from shaking or gritting his teeth, but he couldn't stop the latter. Still, Zidane continued to smile, eyes locked on a place somewhere no one else could locate. A place where, perhaps, his thoughts may be understood, and his worries and sorrow, shared at last.

...and he, for once(_as always_), could do nothing.


	2. Shed Bare

Peace of Mind

A FF9 Fanfiction

By Penultima

From our position at the side of his throne, both of us know there's much more than morning's beauty spinning in his head. Both of us, that is me and Alexandrian Knight Steiner, or Lord of Excalibur as they name him. He doesn't let it show. As soon as we approach he smiles, and comments on how grim our faces are set in a beautiful day. He's gone mad. Losing a piece of his sanity and his wholeness to the sky as he watches it everyday. As his friend, I direly detest the official papers and other things he must take care of even in his grieving. But as his subject, I have naught to say.

To the point, he's not willing to let people help. Almost at the edge of my temper, I shouted at him, telling him if he'd helped people, why was it so hard to be helped. He stared at me, with a gaze I'd never seen in him before, and suddenly his eyes are among all those other Genomes—those empty vessels—as if he'd been lowered to only one of them.

It's not in our position to interfere, but once in a while when guards were up in the dead of night and patrolled the corridors, one could see a figure running down the halls, up, down, back, forward. With no direction, just running until there was nothing left to spend. All drained of life, giving up. Neither of us said anything. We ordered the guards to stop their foolishness at one, and left the matter a mystery. Only it wasn't.

Who knows how many nights he has spent awake, pacing the halls as if searching for a lost treasure? Who knows what devils embrace him in the night and make him want to scream?

Who knows what kind of barrier there is that never makes him want to cry?

She didn't need to say anything. The soft fall and rise of her clothes and the barest clink of her sword against its belt was enough to alert him. Yet again he was nearly asleep reading papers. His eyes quickly opened though, when he saw her from the corner of his half-opened eyes. He smiled, almost naughtily, a twinkle playing in his eyes.

"Mind if I take an early retreat, Lady Rose? My mind is elsewhere today." To put it more easily, _let me leave so I can go and steal from someone's pocket_. Not that it would bother the person much. It was just a hobby, reliving his memories of a time long gone past. That victim would find his money under the chimney somehow, one time or another. And Beatrix couldn't care less. At the sight of her face the king's smile receded to a thin frown.

"Sire..." She lowered her head, curls falling gently like a fountain of water, eyes lowered to meet the ground as she mustered up her courage. "There's something wrong with you—we all notice, you know." She adds, quickly so he has no time to reply. She raises her eyes to meet his distracted gaze. "Please, I'm begging you, let us help.—In any way possible." She could not believe this, she was so close to actually stuttering. He seemed to notice, but kept his face straight and devoid of any humor whatsoever.

"Alright." He stood, and walked off to one side, away from his Rose Knight, "come sit here," he motioned to the chair with his finger. Without much question she obeyed, anticipating some sort of trapdoor or what to suck her down the floor. A malicious grin takes over his nearly innocent face, "and do the papers."

Just as quickly he was gone. Beatrix watched, dumbfounded, looking at the silken curtains still billowing backwards from his passage.

"Your Majesty!" she nearly screamed, "Are you mad?!" when she pushed the cloth out of the way, the king was not falling the mile it took to get to the bottom. He was gone.

Away, perhaps, to run free somewhere and let go of what was inside of him. Running until there was nothing left in him; no tears, no sorrow, nothing.


End file.
